Eternity
by RobinRocks
Summary: USUK. Alfred, the Prince of the Summer, is sent below the earth to the banished Winter Kingdom to marry the indifferent Prince Arthur in a bid to end the hostility left over from a catastrophic war nobody seems to remember anything about.
1. I

Merry Christmas, everyone! :3

SO, uh, this is sort of a rush job, haha. Basically I was inspired to write this after seeing Disney's _Frozen_, which was... hmm, not that long ago, just over a week, I think. So I didn't leave myself an awful lot of time to start writing this! T.T

Anyway, this is a Christmassy/wintery fic, hopefully it'll just be a couple of chapters - though given my track record I'll probably end up finishing it in like July... It's a sort of mash-up of ideas from _The Snow Queen _and the Greek mythology of Persephone; while it was inspired by my seeing of _Frozen_, there is nothing from the film in this, it draws far more heavily on the original Hans Christian Andersen story.

Wonderful movie, though. ;)

Eternity

I

They left the Prince of the Summer at the edge of the world; a peace offering here where the earth was dry and pale, crusted over in the wake the forgotten season.

This was the first time he had been on the surface, having spent the entirety of his sixteen years in the Summer Palace in the sky, and he hadn't the clothes for it, the cold clawing at his skin through golden silk. The Summer Court had sent him as a sacrifice in all his finery, his waistcoat embroidered with gold suns and stars, his scarlet cloak fastened with a circlet of rubies and cat's eyes and amber, his crown set in much the same, fashioned as a twisted band of branches over his brow.

He was to be married off to the Prince of the Winter in a bid to bring to an end the century-old feud between the seasons; this was not his choice but his duty, and one which - after a flare of temper - he had accepted. If the union bore fruit, then the seasons would reconcile and so it might be that he would not have to spend the rest of his life beneath the earth's surface after all.

So he waited.

000

"Your Highness."

A gentle hand on his shoulder shook him awake; and he roused, shivering, from where he had taken shelter at the crooked roots of a dead tree. A young man with dark hair tied over his shoulder, pale-faced in robes of midnight blue, stood over him.

"Alfred, Prince of the Summer." The young man bowed. "I am Wang Yao, consul to the King of the Winter. I have been sent to escort you beneath."

Alfred nodded, too cold to speak, and allowed Yao to lead him to the carriage; black lacquer with silver detail and a coat of arms in blue. Within, folded on the leather seat, was a cloak lined with fur, which Yao pushed towards him.

"Wear this, Your Highness. You will be glad of it."

Alfred wrapped himself in it, curling up on the seat and huddling into its warmth. He had never felt fur or wool before, his homeland was much too warm to have need of either.

The carriage moved off, rattling over the hard ground, and he did not look back. He had never known any season other than Summer, only seen illustrations of the others - Spring, Autumn, Winter - in books; but he knew that the chalky, desolate wasteland in which he had waited was none of them. It was, in fact, the negative space that Winter had once filled - before the war, before the Winter Kingdom had been banished underground a century before.

The path to the Winter Kingdom was long, a slow spiral downwards into the bowels of the Earth; and ever-colder, so that his breath began to cloud before his face and the tips of his fingers went numb. The novelty of his frosted breath soon wore off and he curled miserably inside the cloak, watching the earthen walls go by. He, too, was now banished; sent away from his home of gorgeous glass walls and knee-deep fields of wildflowers and the sun, oh, the _sun_, in the hope that his sacrifice would placate the Winter Kingdom at long last (for every now and then there was still a bloody burst of struggle against their lot).

Alfred had never met the Prince of the Winter, nor seen a picture of him; all he knew was his name, Arthur. He had tried to imagine what he would be like and had come up with, at best, a silvery waify thing dressed in snowflakes - like the painting of the Snow Fairy in one of his books.

He slept, freezing and fitful, and dreamed of her in her blue dress and white furs and her grand castle made of glittering ice; and awoke with a jolt as the carriage came to a sudden halt, throwing him against the opposite seat. He righted himself, hurriedly fixing his skewed crown, as Yao came to the door and opened it for him.

"Your Highness," he said gently, urging him out with a pale hand.

Clutching the cloak around himself, Alfred stepped out of the carriage and onto the cobbles; looking up to find a line of assembled royalty and servants dressed in rich blues and furs. Behind them were great black gates of wrought iron and, beyond these, a monstrous Gothic castle with spires stretching to the greenish sky.

"May I present His Highness Prince Alfred of the Kingdom of the Summer," Yao said, bowing; and all but one of the assembly bowed in response.

Alfred looked to the man who had remained straight, singling him out as the King of the Winter. He was huge, broad-shouldered, with ice-pale hair and a long nose and eyes the colour of lilacs. He wore no crown, no mark of rank whatsoever, but was regaled in fine furs and buffed blue wool.

"Your Highness," Yao went on, dropping to one knee before this large and melancholy man, "I present His Majesty King Ivan of the Kingdom of the Winter."

"Your Majesty." Alfred knew his place and dipped his head in acknowledgement.

"Welcome, young prince," Ivan replied; he had a soft, lyrical voice, accented. "We humbly accept you into our fold. I hope that you will be happy here."

Alfred nodded, shivering; he doubted it. The sight of the imposing castle, straight out of the book of illustrated horror stories from his childhood, was enough to make him want to get back into the carriage and live there instead. Certainly this was not what he had been expecting: in his picture books, Winter had been shown as a soft blanket of shimmering white over the land, with rivers and lakes freezing solid and able to accommodate skaters and carriages and fairs. He had studied at length, between pages, the silver intricacies of snowflakes and blood-red berries of holly and the clear, crisp light of the winter sun. The nightmarish vision before him, attended by black skeletal trees in rows like soldiers, was far worse than what he had braced himself for.

Yao, however, was kind and attentive, taking him by the elbow and leading him through the gates.

"I agree," he said, "it's not much to look at on the outside."

"I thought it would be made of ice," Alfred replied, looking up at the twisted spires.

"That wouldn't be very practical," Yao said patiently. "Not even for the Winter Court."

"...I guess not." Alfred hesitated at the first of the damp steps, watching Yao ascend them to the huge steel doors. This, he understood, was to be his prison.

"Come." Yao seemed to sense his hesitation, turning to him as the doors bellowed open. "I trust you don't want to stand out there all night."

Alfred tugged the cloak tighter around his shoulders, taking a deep breath. He didn't have much choice. His own kingdom had sold him for peace, had abandoned him at the edge of the world to be taken, and he had no way back.

He dropped his gaze to the slabs and slowly made his way up the steps, passing Yao in silence; he flinched when the doors boomed shut behind them, the echo bouncing off his back. He looked up.

It wasn't as terrible inside as he'd been dreading. Certainly it was rather bare, stone walls with a few paintings here and there, but an impressive chandelier alight with hundreds of tiny candles hung from the ceiling and there was a blue carpet underfoot.

"I asked that a bath be prepared for you on your arrival." Yao was brisk now, business-like; he took Alfred by the arm, pulling him along. "It will warm you up; and of course the wedding is tomorrow-"

"Oh. Yes." Alfred glanced at Yao. "Where _is _this Arthur, anyway? I at least get to meet him before I'm packed off with him, right?"

"The prince is out at the moment, I expect." Yao sounded rather weary. "He is seldom in; and if he is, he's usually holed up in the library. I ...hope he does not forget about the wedding."

"...He's forgetful?"

"Yes; and flippant, too, that's the true danger. He stays gone for days, even weeks, at a time, without a thought of his duties." They started up the staircase. "Regardless, don't expect to meet him tonight."

"I can't marry someone I've never _met_!" Alfred exclaimed. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever-"

"I'd advise you not to think of it as a _marriage_," Yao interrupted. "Think of it as a business transaction. You'll spare yourself a lot of pain."

Alfred frowned.

"...What do you mean? Do... do you think Arthur won't like me?"

"He won't be interested in you," Yao said calmly. "It's not your fault and there's nothing you can do to change it. He isn't interested in anything."

"...Oh."

"My apologies." Yao looked at him. "You've been handed quite a bad lot."

Alfred shook his head.

"I should have known... what to expect."

Yao left him in the bathroom, grand in granite tiles, with the bath steaming, welcome, and a change of clothes set aside. He bathed, the heat seeping all throughout him; he hadn't felt this warm since leaving the Summer Palace and he enjoyed it, more his natural state of being. He was tanned, of course, with hair the colour of honey and eyes the blue of the summer sky, so very unlike the white-skinned Winter Court, shut up under the earth.

Emerging from the bath, he carefully folded his fine silks and pulled on the warmer layers left out for him: suede, fur, wool, heavy against his skin. They smelt of wood and spices, not unpleasant. He carried his Summer clothes over his arm but put his crown back on, the gold cool against his damp brow.

He did have _some _pride, after all.

Yao returned, taking his folded clothes gently.

"His Majesty awaits," he said. "He requests that you dine with him."

"The king?"

"Yes." A pause. "It will just be the two of you."

"Very well." Alfred was happy enough to go along with this; he was starving and, that besides, perhaps King Ivan would be more forthcoming about the absent prince than Yao, who seemed to have written him off as not worth talking about.

A serving-man in a grey uniform appeared to take him down and Alfred followed in silence, his limbs weighted down by wool as they weaved through long hallways and empty rooms. They passed by a large, high-ceilinged chamber - within, to Alfred's delight, was a large tree, a pine, and all manner of servants flurried around it with bright streamers and glinting baubles of coloured glass. He stood at the door, watching them in fascination, until his escort firmly called him away.

"But what _is _it?" Alfred bounded along after him. "We have trees in the Summer Palace but never evergreens - and we don't _decorate _them-"

"It's the Christmas Tree, Your Highness."

"Christmas tree?" Alfred frowned. "What's that?"

"A yearly tradition here at the Winter Court." They had entered the dining hall and the serving-man brought him to a seat on the corner of the long table. "I rather think that His Majesty the king will be better equipped to answer your questions on the matter."

"Oh." Alfred sat, watching the serving-man bow and exit. "...Alright."

It was perfectly clear that no-one really wanted to be bothered with him, that he was seen as a nuisance that had been thrust upon them quite out of the blue; this served only to make him more miserable than ever, fiercely aching for his home of the Summer Kingdom - for his brother and his friends and his freedom. Had he only the means of doing so, he would return home in a heartbeat and never give this dreadful place a second thought-

"My apologies! I hope I am not disturbing you!"

Alfred jumped, looking up. The Winter King, Ivan, was standing over him, looking perplexed; and Alfred scrambled to stand in his presence.

"Y-your Majesty!"

"Please." Ivan waved his large hand at him. "I am not partial to that sort of thing. I do not think that you are, either." He gestured to the chair. "Please sit."

Alfred did so, watching Ivan as he sank into the splendid carved chair at the head of the table. A few servants entered with plates and trays and goblets, setting the meal out before them.

"I expect you are hungry," Ivan said gently. "I hope that our food will be satisfactory."

"It will be, I'm sure," Alfred replied faintly; frankly he was so hungry that he didn't care _what _they put in front of him, he would eat it.

Incidentally, while the food was very different to the offerings of the Summer Court, he liked it well enough; roasted meat dusted with rosemary and spices, served with vegetables unlike anything he'd ever seen or tasted before. Ivan explained that the long orange ones were carrots and the pinkish mash was turnip and said he wasn't surprised that they didn't have vegetables like that in the Summer Kingdom.

"We do live in two very different worlds, after all," he said. "We are below the ground, so root vegetables are a reliable harvest. I expect you have a great many things that we do not."

Alfred chewed thoughtfully for a moment, remembering the sorts of things that he had always had in abundance.

"Strawberries?" he ventured. "Hey, how about peaches? Mangoes? Oranges?"

Ivan shook his head.

"We certainly would not have such things. The conditions down here are very harsh. We are able to grow very little."

"Not even flowers?" For the Summer Kingdom flourished with them, wild in all colours, and he could not imagine empty streets.

"I wish it was not the case," Ivan said sadly, "for I am very fond of sunflowers. I have not seen one in a great many years."

"Oh." This made Alfred miserable. "...You know, if you, uh... had some soil, I could grow you one."

Ivan shook his head.

"That is very kind," he said, smiling, "but I could not subject it to a life down here. There is no sun, you see. I could not be so cruel."

He looked at Alfred very pointedly all of a sudden.

"...I suppose you find that statement ironic," he said.

Though he had been nothing but polite to Alfred - kind, even - the prince saw now, in this instant, that Ivan was not one to be trifled with. There was a hardness in his eyes, glinting behind the smile.

He decided not to lie.

"A little," he agreed. "Am I worth less than a sunflower?"

"No, no, so much _more_!" Ivan seemed delighted by his honesty. "That is why you were sent!" He paused. "...Quite against your will, I expect."

"The Winter Prince doesn't seem to be too interested, either," Alfred replied defensively. "He didn't come to meet me."

"That does not surprise me," Ivan said. "You will come to understand this."

"Are you related to him?" Alfred asked this cautiously; he knew that not all of the seasonal royal families were related by blood and wasn't surprised when Ivan shook his head.

"It is a political arrangement," he said. "The prince is the head of the Navy."

"Did... he agree to the marriage?"

"He seemed indifferent." Ivan pursed his lips. "I have taken to accepting that as yes."

"...I see." Alfred's visions of a waify snowflake of a prince had been replaced by that of a hulking tattooed sailor, all bristle and cold salt.

"Tomorrow will be a joyous occassion, all the same," Ivan went on. "You see, your wedding is to take place on the day of the Winter Festival, which we celebrate every year in December."

"Oh!" Alfred brightened. "Is that why you have the tree?"

"Ah, you have already seen the Christmas Tree." Ivan smiled warmly at him. "Yes, we have taken many of the customs that were part of what they called 'Christmas' and other winter celebrations many years ago. We decorate the tree with colourful baubles and small candles; and we have music and give gifts and have a feast-"

"Why?"

Ivan tilted his head.

"How do you mean, _why_?"

"D-don't get me wrong, it sounds wonderful," Alfred said hurriedly, "but why? We have Midsummer's Night but it's really only a lot of drinking and revelry in the night, we don't have decorated trees or presents or any of that stuff."

"It is hard to say, exactly," Ivan said, frowning. "We only have so much information. Many of the traditions are written down in surviving books, although the origins are not. Yao says he thinks the word 'Christmas' comes from 'Christ', or 'Christianity'."

Alfred frowned.

"What's that?"

"One of the religions humans used to follow. We do not have many details on it." Ivan gave a sad smile. "I am not even sure what we are celebrating - but we need some cheering up down here, I'm sure you will agree."

Alfred nodded.

"It's true what they say, then?" he asked quietly. "You really _have _been down here for a hundred years?"

"I cannot set foot on the earth's surface," Ivan agreed, looking at the ceiling. "Arthur has more freedom than I do. The seas, at least, are his."

Alfred looked at his plate.

"If... if the marriage reconciles," he said, "then... perhaps one day you will be able to walk on the surface again."

Ivan didn't look terribly convinced; his smile, though genuine, was paler than before.

"I look forward to that day." He closed his eyes. "I hope that it will be as beautiful as I remember."

* * *

He had never seen fire caged before; he had the power of it in his fingertips and knew it only only as a form of fun, aglow in the midsummer night. He had never known it to be used for warmth, never seen it safely behind a grate.

It was past midnight and he couldn't sleep. He had been put into a small, sparsely-furnished room for the night, with Yao's assurance that he would be moved into Prince Arthur's chamber with him once they were married. His wedding clothes, in the greys and blues of the Winter Court, were hung over the back of the plain wardrobe.

He would be permitted to continue wearing his own crown.

The bed was comfortable but cold, even with the layers of heavy wool blankets; and he was used to sleeping near-naked with a single sheet in the hot thick nights. So he sat instead near the fire, his fur cloak bundled around his shoulders, and watched the flames leap and dance.

The castle had gone quiet, with everyone retired to bed. He could hear the rush of the steel seas against the shore far beneath, the creak of every oak beam in the ceiling. His breath clouded on the smoke, his fingers numb on the fur.

He had no escape.

A key clattered in the lock; and he started, his heart pounding, as metal scraped on metal and the lock turned. He scrambled up, dropping the cloak as the door swung open, his power hot in his fists.

There was a young man in the doorway, the key cold in his gloved hand. He wore a long Naval coat, royal blue with gold fringing, and had blonde hair shot through underneath with purest white; and his eyes were greener than anything Alfred had ever seen in the Summer Court. His expression was weary, however, complacent, exhausted.

"My apologies," he said flatly. "I was not aware that this room was being used."

Alfred couldn't help himself, drawn towards him.

"You're... Prince Arthur," he realised, more to himself.

"I am." Arthur came into the room, closing the door behind him. "Forgive me, I shan't be long."

He didn't spare Alfred a second glance, crossing the room to a small, half-filled bookcase against the far wall. Alfred followed him.

"Don't you want to know who _I _am?" he asked incredulously.

"You are Prince Alfred," Arthur said blandly, "of the Kingdom of the Summer, sent to wed me on tomorrow's morn."

He was going through the books rather languidly, pausing every now and then to open a volume up and scan down a page or two. Alfred pushed in front of him, placing himself directly in his line of sight.

"Doesn't that _bother _you?" he asked.

"Not really." Arthur simply stepped around him. "As long as you stay out of my way, it won't make any difference."

"It _will _make a difference!" Alfred said crossly, fed up of being pushed away and dismissed by these people. "You and I will be bound together by-"

"Not my decision, I assure you." Arthur seemed to have found the book he wanted, flipping through it quickly. Alfred could see the faded old washes of maps on the yellowed pages.

"You don't seem to have protested much!" Alfred snapped; he could feel his temper beginning to flare.

"I tend not to. I have other priorities on which to expend my effort." Arthur waved his hand at him. "Please, don't let me distract you. Go back to bed."

He walked away. Outraged, Alfred bounded after him.

"Y-you can't just _go_, we haven't even...!" He took a deep breath. "Look, we don't even _know _each other-"

"Of course we don't," Arthur said dully.

"W-well, do you really want to marry someone that you don't know?!"

"I don't care." Again, Arthur neatly side-stepped him. "Do you mind? I'm terribly busy."

Alfred stopped.

"I... I thought we could... you know, talk for a little while," he said lamely. "Get to know each other a bit-"

"I don't think so. I'm very busy." Arthur opened the door. "Goodnight."

"W-wait!" Alfred sprang after him, catching his arm as he started to leave.

Arthur simply looked up at him for a moment before tugging. Alfred held on.

"_Please_," Alfred said softly. "I-I've been sent away from my home to marry you and nobody asked me what I thought and nobody asked _you _what _you _thought and I... I just figured that we have that in common and _since _we're going to be married, maybe we could-"

"Don't think of it as a marriage." Arthur pulled his arm free. "You are of no use to me."

He graced Alfred with a curt nod.

"Goodnight," he said again; and he swept out of the room without a backwards glance, the door moaning behind him.

Alfred stood staring at the door for a long moment, stunned; and then he turned and sank back against it, sliding down the wood. His heart thundered in his chest and he felt suddenly terrified and claustrophobic. Despite what they had said about Arthur, Alfred had found himself nonetheless thinking of the other party in all this as his ally; he had expected to at least _like _him, to find sympathy in their shared plight-

He realised now that he was utterly alone, fallen from the heavens and banished to Hell, the single ray of sun that existed beneath the Earth.

* * *

The Christmas Tree was magnificent; ten feet at least, bedecked in thick twists of white tinsel and glimmering glass balls all colours of the rainbow and candles alight on every branch. They were married before it - by Yao, a man of many talents - and Alfred spent the ceremony gazing up at the star crowning the evergreen's topmost branch.

He didn't look at Arthur, who stood by his side and recited his vows without a shred of emotion; and who looked every inch the part, with a blue sash in gleaming silk across his chest and his crown of silver thorns and studs of blueish frost. There was nothing in his eyes, nothing in his voice, and when he put the ring on Alfred's finger, he didn't meet his gaze.

Alfred hated him.

But he knew his duty, if nothing else; and so he spoke his vows and accepted his ring and allowed himself to be bound to the Prince of the Winter for all eternity.

* * *

TBC, of course! ...One day. T.T I'd make promises but I **never **keep them.

Hope everyone is having a very happy Christmas! Can't believe it's here (and almost over) again!

xXx


	2. II

Ahh, thank you so much, everyone, for the support this story has received so far! I hope you will all continue to follow it now that Christmas is over, haha.

Some people mentioned Ivan's role: Who else could possibly be the King of Winter but Russia? XD And yes, he's a good guy. Poor Ivan, he gets a bad rap in the fandom sometimes (much like Francis)!

(We all know that if _anyone_ is secretly scheming to rid himself of the rest of the world, it's probably Austria. XD)

((Except Hungary. She can stay.))

Thanks to:** vivian, ForestFireSong, natcat5, hexa, angelaki13, liltwiheart15, Empress Vegah, onetruepotato, AEngland, apples, .W, toast, Winter-Grown-Lily, Jiyu-Ao** and three **Guests**!

Eternity

II

The revelry was splendid.

Truth be told, being as it was that he had signed away his freedom, Alfred hadn't been expecting to enjoy himself; but Yao and his staff had gone to great pains to make the celebration a wonderful one. The grand Christmas tree lit up the main room, sparkling and splendid, and beyond the open courtyard had been frosted over to create a glittering ice-rink like the one in Alfred's book.

The Summer Prince of course had never skated before and was excited to get onto the ice - only to find that he wasn't terribly steady on his feet and scrabbled about all over the place as the Winter Court glided gracefully around him. Ivan, particularly majestic given his size, took pity on him and guided him around a few times until he gained his balance - and then he was away like a rocket, daredevil and fearless.

Arthur didn't come near the rink, sitting to the side with a cup of tea that Yao brought to him. He looked very bored. Thinking he felt left out, Alfred decided to try again with him, skating to the edge and calling to him:

"Are you telling me that the Prince of the Winter can't ice-skate?!"

"I can." Arthur didn't look at him. "I haven't the time to waste on such frivolities."

"What, and sitting there with a cup of tea _isn't _a waste of time?"

Arthur ignored him. Irritated, Alfred came off the ice and clattered over to him in his skates.

"Hey, come on," he said, putting out his hand; his wedding ring glinted on his finger. "Let's go round together, just once."

"No, I don't think so." Arthur waved his hand at him. "Do leave me be."

It was peculiar: Arthur wasn't particularly abrasive or rude when he spoke despite being so dismissive, instead simply matter-of-fact. Alfred's pestering didn't seem to make him _angry_, as such - as though he would never lose his patience with saying no.

His behaviour unsettled Alfred, who could understand frustration or anger but not this. He watched Arthur, who sipped at his tea as though oblivious to Alfred's being there.

"Don't you know how to have fun?" Alfred asked irritably.

"I haven't any need of it," Arthur replied. "Don't let me keep you."

"A-Arthur, come _on_!" Alfred put out both hands, desperate. "Just _once_! We just got _married_, I-"

"That wasn't our decision."

"That doesn't mean we can't at least be _friends_!"

"I don't need any friends." Arthur got up. "I can see I'm distracting you. Excuse me." He started away briskly.

"W-wait, Arthur...!" Alfred tried to go after him and stumbled in his skates, almost falling; he righted himself on Arthur's chair. "_Wait_!"

"Prince, do not dwell on him." Ivan was at the edge now, beckoning Alfred back. "He will bow to no-one's will but his own."

Alfred carefully made his way back to the ice, joining Ivan - who, he noticed, was intently watching Arthur's back as he made his way back into the castle.

"Anything I should know about him, Your Majesty?" Alfred asked coolly. "You know, now that I'm stuck with him?"

Ivan shrugged his broad shoulders.

"He is strange," he said. "Sometimes I think he has no feelings whatsoever." He smiled kindly at Alfred. "But no matter! Now we have a prince willing to engage with the court. I am sure that _you _will not shirk your duties."

"Of course not, Your Majesty."

"Then think no more on it." Ivan patted him - hard - on the shoulder. "Enjoy your wedding day."

Of course, it was strange to acknowledge a celebration of his marriage to a prince who wouldn't even look at him. Alfred did his best to put Arthur out of his mind, enjoying the rest of the skating and the light lunch afterwards: hot cocoa to take the chill off, served with a vast array of cakes and pastries and sandwiches. After this there was a concert in the main room, with talented serving staff playing a whole repertoire of music from battered sheets. Yao explained that they had found stacks of sheet music, very old, probably from the time of that last war of the humans' or even before. Some were songs about this 'Christmas' celebration the Winter Court were so fond of, lilting melodies about evergreens and a jolly old man who left presents for good children and a baby born in a stable. Others were fuller, more complex, arranged by men with names like Mote-zart and Bate-hoven and Chai-kov-ski. Alfred had never heard of them before but he liked them.

Arthur, of course, was not present. He stayed gone for most of the day, only reappearing at dinner because Yao went to fetch him. He sat next to Alfred without a word.

"Hello," Alfred said coolly under the chatter.

"Good evening," Arthur replied. He ventured nothing else.

"How nice of you to join us." Alfred glared at him; frankly Arthur's lack of interest in him made him feel humiliated, as though he'd been carefully selected to please him and wasn't deemed good enough. "What the hell have you been doing that's so important?"

"That's really none of your business," Arthur said calmly.

"Uh, yes it is!"

"No, it isn't." Arthur's voice was very patient. "You've been down here for little more than a day."

He began to eat, signalling that he was done making small talk. He was so static otherwise that it was almost surprising to see him doing so - Alfred had been beginning to think of him more like a robot than a human. Annoyed but wrong-footed, Alfred started to eat too, shovelling forkfuls of turkey (traditional, apparently).

He looked at Arthur surreptitiously as they ate in silence, surrounded by the jubilant chatter of the Winter Court enjoying their yearly celebration. He hadn't noticed it before but now, in proximity to the rest of the court, Alfred could see that Arthur actually looked a little different to the majority. He was paler, with absolutely no colour in his face, almost grey. His bottom lip had a blueish tinge to it and only the top layer of his hair was blonde; beneath it was a pearly white, bright in the candlelight. He wasn't unattractive, as such, but he certainly didn't look very healthy. Only his eyes seemed to have carry any life in them, a lush green that reminded Alfred of home and its thick tropics - and even these were somewhat duller than they might have been, full of a weariness, a profound melancholy, that Alfred couldn't grasp.

After dinner, the most splendid cake was produced: three tiers of blue-and-white icing in plumes, aglitter with crystals in the shape of snowflakes. The Winter Court's crest was carefully embossed in royal blue, too. Alfred was impressed, unable to contain a whistle; Arthur, naturally, was indifferent, even when Ivan pressed the knife into his hand.

"Cut the cake, Arthur," Ivan urged coolly. "Then you may go."

"Of course, Your Majesty." Arthur rose, nodding to Alfred. "Come on, then."

Alfred was irritated, if only because Arthur's sudden urgency (if it could be called that) was clearly born of his wish to be excused. He got up, though, and put his hand atop Arthur's on the knife's porcelain handle.

His hand was freezing.

Alfred hadn't noticed before - his own hands had been hot and sticky during the ceremony, cancelling Arthur's frigid temperature out when they had exchanged rings. Now, however, his palm closing around the Winter Prince's fingers, it was shockingly obvious. Ivan wasn't cold - Alfred had briefly held his hand whilst getting his footing on the ice earlier and his was perhaps cooler, understandably, than Summer Court skins-

But not like Arthur, who felt like he might be carved of ice.

Suppressing a shiver, Alfred allowed Arthur to guide the knife to the bottom layer of the cake and press the blade into the crisp icing. It went in, sinking deeper as they pushed forward and down, all the way to the lace-edged silver platter. Applause. The knife came up again, swivelling, pushing down again into the silvery crust of sugar-

Resistance. Alfred frowned, pushing - and the knife made a sound as though it was scraping against something hard. But... they were but two inches in, nowhere near the bottom!

"There's something in the cake," Arthur said.

"Oh!" Alfred looked to Yao. "I remember reading in one of my books that the humans used to put coins in cakes and puddings. Is that what it is?"

But Yao shook his head. He looked appalled.

"There... there shouldn't be anything in it, I oversaw the baking..."

Arthur pulled the knife out of Alfred's hand and twisted it this way and that to make a bigger incision. There was complete silence across the room as he leaned over to inspect the innards of the wedding cake.

"What is it?" Alfred asked, leaning close so that he could look too.

"Move." Arthur pushed him back, leaned over towards Ivan and took from the king's belt the ceremonial sword he had worn for the occasion.

Alfred quite saw what he was going to do and skittered back as he raised the sword over his head. Ivan seemed amused but Yao pitched forward with a wail of "Your Highness, _no_!" as Arthur brought the blade singing downwards and cleaved the wedding cake cleanly in two. There was a shriek from a lady further down the table and a few aghast inhales as the wonderful cake quivered and then peeled apart, landing on the table in two symmetrical piles of sponge and icing and snowflakes.

In the bottom layer, nestled within the soft sponge, was a shard of broken mirror, twinkling in the light from the Christmas Tree.

Stunned, Alfred simply looked at Yao, who had the most peculiar look on his face: half-shocked, half-angry.

"Y-Your Highness," he began, addressing Arthur, "you know perfectly well that I didn't-"

"No, I know you didn't." Arthur handed Ivan back his sword and leaned over to pluck the piece of mirror out of the ruined wedding cake, shaking off the crumbs. "Well, well."

"The Autumn King, perhaps?" Ivan asked.

"I assure you," Yao said shrilly, "that _no-one _tampered with that cake!"

"I expect Yao is right," Arthur said calmly. "Besides, Francis would never defile a cake in such a way."

Ivan gave a thoughtful nod, sitting back in his chair.

"Uh, excuse me...?" Alfred looked from Arthur to Ivan to Yao and then back again. "_What _the hell is going on?"

"It's really none of your business," Arthur said, glancing over the cake again. "I don't think there's any more in there. Excuse me."

He shimmied around his seat and was gone.

"It _is _my business!" Alfred shouted after him. "There was a piece of mirror in _my _wedding cake!"

Arthur didn't spare him a backwards glance. Furious, Alfred started after him, stopped by Ivan when he caught him by the elbow.

"Young prince, I beg you," he said gently, "do not let his behaviour trouble you."

"Do _you _know what's going on around here?!" Alfred demanded. "Because I'm sorry but the last thing I'd expect to find in a wedding cake is a piece of goddamn broken _glass_!"

"Yes, yes, I quite understand." Ivan looked harrassed. "Please, sit down." He pulled out Alfred's chair for him. "Please, will you?"

Alfred sat rather sulkily, folding his arms. The chatter, though subdued, had started up again - no doubt a discussion of the preceding peculiar events. Yao was forlornly cutting up the destroyed cake, arranging it as neatly he could onto small ruffled plates.

"I think it is still edible," he said, putting a plate each before Alfred and Ivan.

Alfred inspected his piece before he began to eat, combing his fork through the wreckage in search of brilliant glints - but found none. The cake was fantastic but he found his appetite for it somewhat quelled in light of its spectacular demise.

"Well?" he asked moodily of Ivan.

Ivan gave a sigh, playing unhappily with his cake.

"I do not think there is much in it, personally," he said. "But Prince Arthur is obsessed by a legend of the Winter Kingdom: it speaks of a large mirror that was long ago smashed into thousands of pieces. The legend says that if the word 'Eternity' is made from the pieces, then once again Winter will be permitted to exist upon the earth." Ivan shook his head. "But it is just a story, I am quite certain."

"Then what about the mirror in the cake?" Alfred pressed.

Ivan looked pained.

"I am sure that somebody is simply playing a cruel joke on him. I do not think it very likely that the shard materialised in the cake on its own, do you?"

"Well, no, but-"

"Of course, Yao and I have both spoken to him many times about this but he does not listen. He is so singular-minded that I do not think he can be reasoned with."

"Then who do you think is leading him on a wild goose-hunt?"

Ivan shrugged.

"It is hard to say," he said. "The King of the Autumn and his knights bring him shards whenever they find them. I suppose it might be them - for some sport."

Alfred frowned.

"That seems cruel."

"It is." Ivan gave another shrug. "Then again, perhaps it is a mercy that he is at least stirred by _something_."

"Why is he so cold?" Alfred flexed his fingers. "To the touch, I mean."

"Is he?" Ivan tilted his head. "I cannot say that I have ever noticed."

"...Have you never touched him?" Alfred was surprised.

"Why would I need to do that?" Ivan looked at him curiously. "Arthur and I have an agreement and we co-exist peacefully. That is all."

"Uh huh." Alfred raised his eyebrows. "And what is your _agreement_?"

The Winter King smiled gently.

"Do you know," he said, "it has been so long that I don't even remember."

* * *

The party wrapped up some time after midnight, after coffee and cocoa and traditional carols trilled around the tree. The atmosphere seemed unchanged despite the strangeness of the mirror-in-the-wedding-cake, which Alfred took to mean - somewhat uneasily - that the Winter Court was actually used to Prince Arthur's eccentric behaviour and largely ignored him. He suspected that they had only been so horrified earlier because he had ruined the cake; the mirror and his madness were inconsequential.

Alfred, however, could not put it from his mind, perplexed as to how that piece of mirror had gotten into the cake if Yao was so adamant that no-one had touched it.

At the party's end, Alfred was escorted by Yao to his new chamber: the large royal suite belonging to Prince Arthur that he would now share. It was empty, of course, Alfred sighing out in the silence. Yao bade him goodnight and carefully closed the door behind him.

Unbuttoning his jacket, Alfred crossed the vast room, looking about. It was magnificent, certainly fit for a prince, with a high ceiling boldly daubed in gold filigree and roses, the chandelier alight with candles and blue jewels. The carpet was white, soft underfoot, and there was a long reclining couch in white leather before the roaring fire, thrown over with pillows and furs. At the far end of the room were shelves of books stretching all the way to the ceiling, and nestled amongst these was a polished desk of dark wood.

At the other other of the long room, on a platform accessed by a small gilt staircase, was the bed. It was a grand four-poster with blue silk sheets and white furs and pillows embroidered with silver; and immaculate, looking rather as though it had never been slept in.

He could hear the sea beneath, a steel-bellied rumble, and his curiosity was roused; for he could hear the sea always but had yet to see it. He went to the window and pushed back the heavy velvet curtain, stretching onto tiptoes to peer out over the stone sill. The sea was liquid granite, roaring up over the rocks beneath and leaving a trail of white foam like lace on the sand. The sky was clear and the moon bright and in its silver-weird light Alfred could see a ship, solitary in the crescent bay beneath. It was like the ones at home, the full curves of sails bright against the sky.

Alfred watched it bob for a while but there didn't seem to be much life about it. He wondered if it was Arthur's - Ivan _had _said that Arthur was the head of the Navy, after all. Growing bored, he pushed away and padded across the room towards the platform on which the bed rested. He climbed the steps, threw off his jacket and shoes and flopped onto the mattress, sinking into silk and fur. He rolled over, getting comfortable, and put his hands behind his head. The room was warmer than the one he had stayed in last night, the fire crackling softly in the quiet.

He mused on writing to his brother but didn't expect that the letter would have any way of getting to the Summer Kingdom. He would have liked to tell Matthew about the day's events, though; and Kiku, too, a patient listener always ready with advice. His twin and his friend would know what to do - and Alfred only wished that _he _did.

It was enough clear to him that there was something very strange going on in the Winter Kingdom: and at the heart of it a prince with no emotions, obsessed with a fairy tale. Certainly Ivan didn't seem to put much stock in the legend, resigned to his fate, and let Arthur do as he pleased because it kept him busy; and Yao seemed to consider the prince more-or-less a write-off, refusing to say much about him when Alfred probed. Incidentally, though he insisted otherwise, Yao did indeed seem very angry about the cake.

Alfred wondered and wondered at the mystery of the mirror shard within the wedding cake. It did seem extraordinary that it should have made its way in there. It was deliberate, he expected, but couldn't begin to fathom who might have put it there. He hadn't been down here long enough to begin to know Arthur's friends and enemies (for undoubtedly the mirror _had _been for Arthur)-

Well, what could he expect when he barely even knew _Arthur_?

He dressed for bed and snuggled down under the heavy covers, watching the fire. He liked the smell of it, it reminded him of home and Midsummer's Night; and then he began to grown lonely and homesick and rolled over, pulling the covers over his head.

He had been expecting to spend the night alone, almost asleep when the _click _of the door opening roused him. He drowsily sat up, squinting without his glasses to see Arthur pausing in the glow of the fire. The Winter Prince was still in his wedding clothes, his blue sash shimmering in the orange light as he leaned against the door and ran his hands through his hair. He didn't seem to have noticed Alfred (who wondered if finding his bed already occupied might be the thing to _finally _get a reaction out of him).

Arthur pushed off the door and crossed the room, making his way up the delicate gold steps to the bed. Alfred leaned over and turned on the gaslamp at the bedside.

"Yao put me in here," he said when Arthur looked at him. "We're married so we have to share a bed."

"There's no need to be defensive," Arthur replied. "I understand."

He started to undress, unfazed by Alfred glaring at him.

"You... don't mind?" Alfred asked.

"No."

Alfred drew up his knees beneath the sheets, resting his chin on them as he absently watched Arthur change.

"Nothing much seems to bother you, does it?" He frowned. "...Except pieces of mirror showing up in wedding cakes."

"That is not your concern."

"Why isn't it?" Alfred challenged. "I've married into this kingdom. Now I'm stuck down here just like the rest of you. If there's a way of-"

"I see." In his nightclothes, Arthur began to carefully fold his wedding suit. "Ivan has told you the legend."

"Yeah. He said no-one believed it but you."

Arthur said nothing.

"Arthur, I..." Alfred pushed back the covers, leaning forward. "_I _don't think you're crazy."

"Why would you think that?"

"W-well, everyone else seems to."

"Oh." Arthur looked at him. His face was completely blank. "You meant that as a compliment."

"N-no, I just..." Alfred rose to his knees. "I want to help you find the mirror pieces."

"No, you don't. You just think that it sounds like a bit of sport."

Alfred was affronted.

"No, I don't! I really-"

"Given the choice to help find the shards of mirror, of which there are thousands, or to return home to the Summer Kingdom, which would you pick?"

Alfred was silent. It... it wasn't that he _hated _it down here, it really was much better than he had been expecting, but...

"Precisely." Arthur lifted the edge of the sheets and slipped into the bed. "This isn't a game."

"Then why are we being treated like pawns?" Alfred asked moodily, flopping back against the mattress.

"I don't think we both are," Arthur said. "Just you."

Alfred snorted.

"I guess you wouldn't notice anyway."

"Perhaps not." Arthur gestured with his hand. "Put out the light and go to sleep."

Alfred did turn the light off - but lay awake, looking up at the shadowy curves of fabric hanging above like a frosted night. He could hear Arthur's gentle breathing, feel the coolness of his skin seeping into the sheets.

"Hey," Alfred said softly. He twisted the blanket in his hands. "Are we... supposed to...?" He closed his eyes. "_You know_."

"I'd rather not." A pause. "It's nothing personal."

"Oh." Alfred was rather relieved. "Okay. I was just asking. You know, I just figured since we're married we were meant to-"

"Do you ever stop talking?"

Alfred flushed in the dark, biting his lip.

"No, I talk a lot. Mattie always says so. I-I didn't mean to annoy you."

"You're not annoying me. I just wondered since you seem so determined to get a conversation out of me. Most people would have given up by now."

"Well... we're _married_." Alfred said this a little resentfully. "I can't give up on you _that _easily."

Arthur didn't say anything. Alfred turned his head, pressing his cheek flat to the pillow to look at him. The Winter Prince had his back to him, his hair tousled to show the strange white beneath.

"Arthur?"

"Yes?" Arthur sighed it.

"Is that your ship out in the bay?"

"Yes."

"What's it called?"

"Her name is _Titania_." A pause. "Titania is the queen of the fairies."

"Oh." Alfred watched him. "It's a nice name."

"Thank you."

Silence. Alfred resigned himself to not getting much more from Arthur and rolled over, settling. The bed was colder than it had been before and he suppressed a shiver, wondering if Arthur himself even noticed just how frigid his body temperature was.

He wanted to ask but didn't know how to broach it; and anyway, Arthur sounded like he was asleep and after having his chattiness so candidly pointed out, Alfred was embarassed to start talking again-

Arthur gave a little grunt as though he was in pain; Alfred felt him shifting, heard the intake of breath.

"Arthur?" he whispered. "...Are you alright?"

For a long moment there was nothing; and then, as Alfred began to sit up, Arthur spoke:

"I'm fine." He exhaled. "Go to sleep."

He went quite still again and Alfred, after a pause, settled back once more. He lay looking up at the canopy again, feeling lost. He didn't know what to do.

When he slept, he dreamed of fairy queens in books and old ships in the sun and Arthur, who smiled.

* * *

When he awoke, Alfred found himself alone in the bed. The chill too had disippated - Arthur had been gone for a while.

Alfred found that he wasn't all that surprised.

He dressed quickly, scurrying against the chill of the large room, and hurried out into the corridor. He almost bumped into Yao, who was making his careful way with a tray of fresh coffee.

"Your Highness!" Yao seemed surprised. "It is early, I expected you to still be asleep!"

"I wasn't sure when breakfast is," Alfred admitted. "It's always early at home."

"His Majesty the king should be down shortly." Yao turned about, falling into step alongside Alfred. "We serve breakfast whenever he rises." A pause. "Of course Prince Arthur keeps his own schedule."

"I guessed."

"He was civil to you last night, I trust?"

"Oh, yeah, he was perfectly polite." Alfred frowned. "It's like he only has that one setting. It's odd."

"Mm." Yao gave a tilt of his head.

"How do I make him mad?" Alfred asked.

"Why do you want to do that?"

"To get _something _out of him!" Alfred gave a groan of frustration. "I don't know. I feel... like I still haven't met the _real _Arthur, you know? Like he's in there somewhere and I just... can't _reach _him."

"That may be." Yao didn't sound very interested, bringing Alfred to the table and setting the tray down next to him. "King Ivan will join you soon."

He bustled off. Alfred poured himself a cup of black coffee and leaned back in his chair, savouring it. It wasn't as rich as the coffee in the Summer Kingdom, tasting a little grittier, less pure, but coffee was coffee and he enjoyed it all the same. He tilted his head back, seeing the reflection of the wondrous Christmas tree in the glass doors behind him. The palace was much quieter today, with much of the Winter Court having returned to their own homes on the outskirts of the grounds and the servants settling back into the calm routine of everyday.

Ivan came down, dressed rather more plainly than the day previous, and engaged Alfred in some pleasant small-talk while they waited for breakfast. Alfred found that he wanted to discuss Arthur again but Ivan, perhaps deliberately, wouldn't let him get near the topic.

Breakfast was a generous spread of toasted bread, buckwheat pancakes, eggs, bacon and porridge, accompanied by more coffee or a choice of teas. Alfred inquired after the teas, which he was fairly certain grew only in warm climates.

"Ah, we do have some trade," Ivan said. "We export wool, fur and potatoes for goods like tea and sugar. I think Arthur might have died by now if we couldn't get tea."

There was the opening.

"Where _is _Arthur?" Alfred asked. "He wasn't in the bed this morning."

"He is gone," Ivan sighed. "He left before dawn, I should think."

"Where does he go?" Alfred pressed.

Ivan shrugged.

"I do not know," he said. "He will never tell me." He looked at Alfred pitifully. "He ought to have taken you with him; you won't have a honeymoon otherwise."

"I asked to be allowed to help him find the mirror pieces," Alfred grumbled, playing with his pancakes. "He said no."

"He does not like to think he is being mocked."

"I wasn't mocking him."

Ivan smiled gently.

"I am sure you were not."

Yao suddenly came hurrying in again, looking a little dishevelled.

"Your Majesty." He bowed to Ivan. "The King of the Autumn is here."

Ivan actually looked a little irritated; the first time Alfred had such an expression on his pale face.

"I expect he is looking for the prince," he said. "Tell him that Arthur is not present."

"I already have, Your Highness. He insists on being received."

Ivan paused; and then his shoulders gave a defeated sag.

"Very well," he said. "Send him in. He may have breakfast with us."

"Of course, Your Highness."

Yao disappeared. Alfred looked quizically at Ivan, who seemed apologetic.

"I hope you will not mind," he said. "King Francis actually has more to do with Prince Arthur than he does with me but..."

Alfred shook his head.

"It's alright, I don't mind."

They both rose to receive Francis, the King of the Autumn, who blazed into the chamber in a flurry of grand reds and golds. He wore an extravagant cloak of red velvet and splendid crown filled with rubies and emeralds, his blonde hair tied over his shoulder with a bronze-coloured ribbon.

Alfred - who hadn't been expecting to recognise him - was shocked. He had seen this man before; several times, in fact, for he had a certain fondness for Matthew and called on the Summer Court often. He had never been dressed so grandly, however, and Alfred had never heard Matthew call him by title or by name.

"Your Majesty," Ivan said politely, dipping his pale head in a slight bow. Alfred copied him, watching Francis closely. How could he never have known that this man was the Autumn King?

"Your Majesty," Francis drawled in reply. He had a rich, musical accent. "And here is the delightful Summer Prince," he went on, looking to Alfred. "Your brother told me you'd been sent to marry dear Arthur."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Alfred murmured, almost resentful.

"Oh, please, call me Francis." Francis threw himself dramatically into the seat opposite. "We are not ones for formality, are we, Ivan?" He gave an airy wave of his hand. "Only King Ludwig insists on that."

Ivan and Alfred sank back into their seats, with Ivan offering the coffee pot.

"Please, help yourself," he said. "There is plenty."

"How kind." Francis took out a slim gold box of cigarettes and lit one, taking a contented puff. "Yao tells me that Arthur left this morning?"

"I am afraid so."

"Hmm." Francis looked thoughtful, his cigarette pursed between his lips as he poured himself a cup of coffee. "Well, it does not matter especially. His _Titania _cannot outrun my beautiful _Jeanne d'Arc_ for long."

"I expect not," Ivan said graciously.

Alfred listened with interest. Francis seemed to be something of an adventurer-king, going wherever his whimsies took him, something which Alfred found himself envying - especially now that his marriage had made him a prisoner in the Winter Palace. He wondered how this peacock of a man had become entwined with Arthur, who showed no interest in anyone or anything.

"So, young Alfred." Francis turned suddenly on him, his chin propped up on his knuckles. Smoke curled about his smile. "This must be quite a change for you, non?"

"It is," Alfred agreed, determined to be non-commital.

"Do you like it down here?"

"It is satisfactory." Now he was prim, closed-up, certain that Francis was ridiculing him his plight.

"My, so polite." Francis seemed amused, looking to Ivan. "Nothing like what his brother says of him."

"I expect he does not wish to be rude in front of me," Ivan said cheerfully. "I do not mind."

"No, I-"

"What do you think of Arthur?" Francis pressed. "A delight, is he not?"

Alfred shrugged.

"He's alright." He looked at Francis. "How do _you _know him?"

"Oh, we often cross paths out on the seas." Francis gave a vague wave of his hand. "I would not say that I _like _him, as such, but he is a valuable ally."

"He likes pieces of broken mirror, too," Alfred said pointedly.

Francis straightened, looking Alfred over as though seeing him in a new light. He grinned.

"Well, well," he said, looking to Ivan. "You were quick indeed to air out the skeletons."

Ivan shrugged.

"A mirror shard appeared in the wedding cake yesterday." He clasped his hands together. "You would not know how it arrived there?"

Francis looked disgusted.

"Certainly not!" he said delicately. "I would never do such a thing."

"Well, that is what Arthur said," Ivan admitted. "Still, it is most strange."

Francis gave a thoughtful nod, taking a sip of coffee.

"I ought to go and find him," he sighed, looking at the ceiling. "I expect he is on the Edge again, digging holes in the sand."

"Wait, you mean you actually know _where _to find him?" Alfred asked.

"There aren't very many places that he will be," Francis replied calmly. "He hasn't the mind of a wanderer."

"Take me with you," Alfred said, standing. "I-I want to help him and he won't let me."

Francis seemed greatly amused, his blue eyes gleaming.

"Well, well," he said, glancing at Ivan. "Perhaps there is a spark in the match after all."

"I am doubtful that it is requited," Ivan said.

"All the same, I want to go." Alfred, too, looked to the Winter King. "If that's alright with you."

Ivan smiled.

"It is alright with me," he said. "I trust that Francis will look after you."

Francis grinned, bowing deeply to Ivan.

"Indeed I shall," he said. "I do not want to have to answer to his brother."

* * *

So the idea of the mirror and the spelling out of 'Eternity' from the pieces to obtain freedom comes from Hans Christian Andersen's original story of _The Snow Queen_. Admittedly I don't really see where it would have fitted into the storyline of _Frozen_ (and I've read that the Disney adaptation of _The Snow Queen _was stuck in development hell for DECADES because they couldn't figure out how to transpose the story) but I think that the mirror is one of the best elements of the original story and it's a shame it didn't make it into _Frozen_. :C (Then again _Frozen_ ended up being a **very** loose adaptation of the source material, probably one of the loosest Disney has ever done.)

I REALLY HOPE THIS STORY WON'T END UP BEING TOO LONG, OMG. T.T


End file.
